One Man on a Coffin
by ByeByeHLK
Summary: A short story loosely based on Three Men in a Boat. If I give you a summary it'll spoil the whole story for you. This will be entered into a competition at a later point, so please don't repost it somewhere. Constructive criticism is a must (that's why I'm putting it up here).


Queer happenings are taking place near your home, you say? Of what nature? Suspicious-looking men on street corners and conversing with other mysterious men? Why, this is no new thing to us older gentlemen. We have lived many a year, and my fifty-nine is no paltry accomplishment. I would eat my hat if those happenings you speak of are no more than some men up to unlawful nonsense, as my experience informs me. But what my experience also tells me, and it has never failed before, is that the gentleman who values his integrity, and even his life, should keep away from such shady affairs. Rather involve yourself in more proper pursuits, I advise.

Now, my dear fellow, speaking of queer happenings, let me mention one of my own. Yes, I am quite convinced that this one will leave you baffled.

You see, one beautiful Sunday evening, it was a fortnight ago I believe, I was taking a stroll, as was customary for me, along the serene Erewash Canal. As I usually divulge in this tradition I recall most of the folk I meet on this excursion. There was James Carlisle, the doctor, and his wife sitting on the bench. I always admire them in the measure that they make such an excellent couple, he the tall dark husband, and she the tall, but not as tall as he, blonde wife. I had reason to admire them, having no wife nor children, and a common plain brown hair and eyes. Nevertheless, I respected their relationship. They seem to always be cheerful, and I could always rely on receiving a hearty greeting from them, which I was happy to return.

Then there was Jane, the housekeeper on an old manor not far from the banks of the canal, who always seemed to conjure up an excuse to the ancient-looking man who owned the place. Rumour has is that he inherited many millions of pounds from an uncle, but it has never been proven. However he received this great amount of money, he didn't spread it around, as some of the mob of the town had hoped, but merely bought the manor and a few pieces of furniture, and confined himself to isolation. Some people quizzed Jane on this, but she pretended to know nothing, making a few of them quite angry. I, however, having a mild personality, thought, and still do think, that they evidence a lack of respect for a person's privacy.

I shall not bore you with a lengthy list of all the persons I happened upon every evening. Except for the Carlisles and Jane there was another older couple that shared my fine idea of an evening stroll. Many of the rest I only saw fleetingly on certain Sundays.

Now, where was I? Oh yes. I was taking my stroll along the bank of the Erewash Canal, soaking in the view. The beautiful landscape always seemed to amaze me. The lush green foliage, the serene blue water, the pretty boats lazing along; all of this came together to form the perfect atmosphere that anyone could ever imagine.

As I was admiring all of this a flock of geese decided to drift overhead, and I stood still in the shade of an old oak tree to admire them. After they had passed I looked down to continue my walk. Now listen carefully. What I saw was this: a man was rowing, or shall I say paddling, down the river. Nothing unusual, right? Your typical black haired bloke paddling along. Not unless you regard what method of transport he chose to use. At a distance it seemed to be a small craft, perhaps a rowing boat. But when he came closer, and you considered it with a more critical eye you would see that it was, in fact, not a boat at all. It was, and believe me I was not mistaken, a coffin. Closed, of course, with him sitting on top rowing with a single paddle. Queer, isn't it? Not believing my eyes, I had wandered closer to the bank to have a closer look. Apparently some other people also noticed this singular scene, and were also taking notice. As he approached us ─ the people taking notice ─ we looked to find any explanation for this strange mode of transport. Now, he came nearer, and one man called to him, asking him what on earth he was doing. The man on the coffin simply stared at him, seemingly refusing to answer his question, a blank expression on his face.

After he had passed we gathered in groups to discuss the reasoning behind this. Some wondered that he might have had no other choice of transport and, seeing the coffin, chose that. Many others, which included myself, simply thought that he belonged in the loony bin. To this day I have never been able to establish a concrete logical reason for any man to do such a thing.

So take my advice, young fellow: queer things do happen, but don't bother yourself too much with them. Many are the people who have gone mad, up to no good, or have any other reason to act differently than that which society advocates. All you need to make sure of is that you don't become one of them.


End file.
